


Ladd Russo and Claire Stanfield Put Violence Aside for a Time and Engage in  Conversation

by r_lee



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/pseuds/r_lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the incident on the <i>Flying Pussyfoot,</i> two foes meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladd Russo and Claire Stanfield Put Violence Aside for a Time and Engage in  Conversation

It was going to take some time getting used to not having a left hand but at least _all_ the fun wasn't over. As long as he had one hand, he'd still be able to kill Lua himself eventually, somewhere way down the line a very large number of years from now. The immediate future didn't look as if it was scheduled to be too happy, but there would be lots of opportunities for a person like him where he was likely to be going despite the protestations of his attorneys. Both an honor and a real pain to have the cops guarding his hospital room all the time, visitors were few or at least not the kinds of visitors he wanted to see. In those moments alone he sometimes but not often wondered about the people on the train. Not the literally faceless ones who came back to him in dreams like puppets on strings, but the other ones. The ones who _hadn't_ been killed, like that girl with the knives. She was something. Not quite as something as his girlfriend, fiancée, and lover Lua.

She'd be waiting for him. That was one promise he knew she'd keep.

***

His ear hurt but worse than that, he could still feel the fingers on his left hand even though they weren't there any more. It was like the rope still sliced into them and he held on for dear life. How the hell that guy knew he was going to jump off the train was beyond him, but then no one had ever claimed he was all there in the smarts department to begin with although they wouldn't have dared say that to his face. At the moment he was trying to stretch out those nonexistent fingers to ease their cramping under all the bandages wrapped too tightly when the sound of the door -- another flatfoot, no doubt -- tore his attention away from the futile exercise. "What do you..."

"We meet again."

Even without the cover of blood or darkness or both, there was a voice Ladd wasn't going to forget, not for a long time. From the relative comfort of his hospital bed with one arm partially gone and the rest of him wrapped in bandages, there wasn't a whole lot he could do but while he was sedated he wasn't particularly sedate and his mind still worked. There was always a way and beneath the bandages, he tensed before telling himself it wasn't worth it, he was too tired. "You come back to finish the job?"

Without the blood, the guy wasn't bad-looking. Young, amiable, tall. "Nah." Shaking his head, he took a step forward into the room. "I actually came by to peruse the situation and find out for my own self how you were doing. After the incident on the _Flying Pussyfoot,_ my work associated with that particular task was done and I had to retire my Conductor's uniform. I'm sure you can understand that the events that took place on the train were in no way shape or form personal. No hard feelings."

"Yeah, no hard feelings." What was he supposed to say? "How did you even get in here?"

"Oh, I have my ways. Mind if I sit?" Before being invited, he pulled out a chair and made himself comfortable.

"Sure. Take a load off. What's your name? Since I've never been the type to get railed in -- get it? -- by that Rail Tracer story in the first place." Hey, he had to give himself credit. At least the old brain was still working even if those left-hand fingers itched like crazy now, but when he reached over to scratch them all his right hand met was empty air. Oh yeah. Nothing but a stump.

Long legs stretched out, completely unconcerned, the man nodded. "I used to go by the name of Claire Stanfield, but that guy's gone now. Go ahead and call me Vino. All my friends do." He took off his hat, bounced it on his arm a couple times. "They say they're going to put you away for the murder of all those people on the train." His smile added _ain't that rich?_ to the sentence without saying a word, but it was there nonetheless. "I have to say that while we were on the Transcontinental Express, you certainly acted in a way that could be construed both by myself and others as more or less megalomaniacal. Then again, I suppose you could make the same argument about me. There was far more than a moment there up on the roof of the train where I was convinced I was invincible."

Ladd grunted noncommittally, wondering if this guy _ever_ shut up and what exactly he wanted by virtue of this unexpected and unscheduled visitation. Nice of him to rub it in about the murder charge, all things considered; he hadn't actually killed any outsiders on that train. Danced around in a lot of blood, played puppet master with a few dead bodies, masterminded the whole thing, but kill any bystanders? He didn't _have_ to; that's what his guys were for and the plea would be _not guilty._ He also didn't have to be _completely_ silent here; a few questions started to bubble up into his consciousness. "That girl with the knives. Whatever happened to her? She was really something."

Vino startled, sat forward in his chair, and brightened measurably. "I'm gonna marry her. Her name's Chane. Anyone touches a hair on her head and I'll kill 'em myself. That is if she doesn't get to them first. Beautiful and deadly: now there's something a fellow can stand behind and love forever. It's funny. I've fallen for girls before and it never lasted, but the moment I saw her standing up there on the train fighting you, I knew she was the one for me. I suppose I ought to give you thanks for enlightening me to the importance of that moment, which certainly proved to be both pivotal and formative."

Clearly the emotion was deep and heart-felt and it shone into the room like a beacon, even through Ladd's haze of morphine. "Chane. That's a pretty name." Considering the whole thing for a minute, he nodded. "Good for you. Good for you. A guy doesn't have someone like that, he ain't got nothing."

"How about your lady? The two of you make it off the train okay? I'd ask if you made it off in one piece but I already know the story. It's a little bit of a shame part of you got left behind."

"Eh." Too late to worry about that now. "They tell me she's fine. She'd never hurt a fly, my Lua. She's out there waiting for me somewhere. They won't let her in here, though."

Now Vino stood, his curiosity apparently put to rest for the time being or something. "Lua. That's almost as pretty a name as Chane. What's her last name?"

"Klein." A sad sigh escaped: he really _did_ want to be the one to kill her some day, some day way in the future. No one else was going to get to take that away from him, no matter what. "Lua Klein, and don't you dare hurt her or I _will_ kill you."

"Nah, I ain't got no interest in that, although I can see we have similar feelings for our mutually individualistic lady friends." His laugh was a lot more kindly than Ladd expected it to be. Until their encounter on the _Flying Pussyfoot,_ no one had _ever_ been able to best him in one-on-one combat before. He had to give this guy a measure of respect for that alone, but the thought got buried as Vino kept right on flapping his jaw. "Don't worry. I only ask so I know who to tell them to let in. This is my town and like I said earlier, I have my ways. How does later today sound?"

Part of him railed (ha ha, he made himself laugh) at the thought this guy could do one _more_ thing he couldn't, but he was in no position to be argumentative, bellicose, or difficult. "Later today sounds both spectacular and curiously beautiful."

"Consider it done." As he reached for the doorknob, Vino turned around and tipped his hat.

For the first time in days, that phantom limb didn't hurt.


End file.
